Page 25 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

I’m not a good man. There is no doubt in my mind that I’m taking advantage of this young woman. Yet I can’t stop myself.

Ever since I made the decision on the terrace downstairs when she suggested her outrageously stupid proposal, there is nothing that can prevent me from moving forward.

I’m aware she’s doing it for money, and I resent her for that. Not enough to stop. I won’t stop anymore. Lily will be mine.

She reads the paperwork, her gaze fixing on some passages and skimming through others. Sometimes she scrunches her nose as if considering. Some paragraphs cause her lips to purse to the side.

She’s hauntingly perfect, like an antique statue, but also too fluid, too real, too breathtaking in her imperfection.

She turns the page and arches her eyebrows, and I itch to round the desk to see what part of the contract she is reading.

The gentle slope of her shoulders moves with every breath. The delicate column of her throat bobs with every swallow .

She could be a timeless masterpiece; only she is alive, shifting, breathing, untamed. I don’t move, afraid to break the spell, and grateful for this moment.

I didn’t expect her to plow through the prenup with such dedication. She does; she studies it with the concentration of a person who understands what they are reading. Fuck, I haven’t even read the fine print.

A new level of respect for her blooms inside me, as if I needed more reasons to admire her. It also makes me question what the hell I am doing. I don’t know who this woman is. Clearly she’s someone who knows she shouldn’t sign a contract without reading it.

Does it even matter? It’s a fake marriage, after all. I trust her with my children, and that will have to do for now.

I’m ashamed to admit I’m surprised she’s this diligent. But the fact that she is… The fact she took off her fake glasses to read it in detail, makes me hard. But then what’s new in her presence?

Finally, she gets to the last page. Her chest moves with a deep breath in and a long breath out before she picks up a pen and leans in. Her hand hovers above the signature line, and I hold my breath.

She hesitates. She is going to do the right thing. I’m fucked. I can’t have her recant now. I don’t have a plan B. I don’t fucking want a plan B. I clench my fists.

Will she take more money?

Can I sweeten the deal for her somehow?

What the hell is wrong with me?

The pen connects with the page, and she scribbles her signature. “It’s done.”

A boulder dislodges from my chest. I wait for regret to settle in, but it doesn’t arrive. An unexpected wave of elation sweeps through me, and I grip the armrests to prevent myself from pouncing.

She closes the folder and pushes it toward me. Her eyes dart around the office like she’s not sure what to do next. I’m not sure what to do next. Offer her whiskey? Shake hands?

Probably without thinking, she picks up a spreadsheet I was evaluating before.

She studies it like she knows what it is. I should be concerned with the confidentiality of the information, but I enjoy watching her way more.

As if she caught herself suddenly, she drops the paper. “Sorry… I-I-I don’t know why I picked it up.”

“It’s okay.”

“Is that your client’s?”

“It’s a company our client wants to acquire.”

“Will you report them?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

She leans forward, and now I have a close-up look at her cleavage. Jesus.

She points to a line in the spreadsheet. “They reported two separate accounts for operational costs, but the line items are practically identical. Same vendors, same amounts, just shuffled around under different categories.”

How did I miss that? How did she catch it?

“I didn’t know you studied accounting.” Who is this woman? Hasn’t she barely finished college?

Her cheeks warm with that pink shade that colors her tawny skin so often. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Obviously.”

She jumps up like I zapped her with an electric current.

A part of me hopes she will leave, but instead she meanders around the office. She is wearing a shawl-like cardigan instead of a sweatshirt tonight. As she reaches for a book, the fabric slips from her shoulder, revealing a thin strap of a tank top.

My cock doesn’t twitch; it fucking grows hard like she’s just stripped in front of me. I stifle a groan.

She frowns, looking at me over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

I guess I didn’t stifle that groan. I want to walk over and push the flimsy cardigan up her shoulder, but how many times can she see my erection before she realizes she is not safe with me?

“I’m good. You?” My conversation skills are top game tonight .

“I’m strangely calm, given that I just got myself a fiancé, no ring.

In two days I’ll have a husband, no wedding.

I was technically the one who proposed… I’m living every girl’s dream.

” She giggles, pulling her garment up and wrapping it around her torso.

“Besides, I’m probably committing a felony, and I’ll be a divorcee before the age of twenty-six. ”

This woman wants to save my children from their unstable, narcissistic mother, and in return I crush her dreams. Fuck. “I’m sorry.”

It’s not a lie. I vow to make sure she doesn’t regret this, to improve her life in every possible way. Because I truly am sorry for her sacrifice.

Not enough to do the right thing.

“Oh, don’t be. I’m getting a dashing, rich husband out of it.” She winks. It’s sexy as hell.

Do the right thing, asshole. I pick up the papers. “Do you want me to shred this?”

“Jesus, Declan, chill. We’re doing it for the kids, and it’s just a formality. I was kidding. I have plenty of time to get my fairy-tale wedding. And knowing I helped you protect your twins makes me feel invincible, and grateful. Like I’m a good person.”

The idea of someone else giving her the fairy-tale wedding makes me see red, but I push that irrational burst to the side. “You are a good person. ”

She snorts. “I wish that was true. What is all of this?” She points to the large table with my research.

She is skillfully redirecting the conversation from herself, and I play along, because I’m not ready to find out why she would claim not to be a good person. There will be time for that later. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she’ll leave my life soon, and this will only be a memory.

A painfully tantalizing snapshot in time.

“Research for a family tree.”

She looks at the mess on the table with renewed curiosity. “Your family tree?”

“No. Mine has been done by my grandfather. Genealogy was his passion. I used to help him, and somehow it grew into my hobby as well. That is actually his table. My father enjoyed piecing family histories together too. Now they’re both gone, and I moved the table here.

I do most of my research online, but I like that connection with Grandpa and Dad. ”

She smiles at me with a gaze full of fascination. “This is the only messy surface in your house. I like it.”

“It’s not messy. It’s an organized chaos.”

She tilts her head to the side, still smiling at me, like everything I’m saying is interesting. Fuck, she is killing me. It’s one thing when she is drawing—unknowingly—my darkest desires from me, but stroking my vain ego… How will I survive this vixen ?

“So whose tree is this?” She picks up an old black-and-white photo and studies it.

“A woman from Miami. I take on projects for others, since our family has been charted several branches wide.”

“That is so cool. You help these people uncover their stories.”

I stand up and walk over, my dick finally half-mast only. I step into her private space and revel in her quickened breath. She turns to me, dropping the photo.

I tuck a strand behind her ear. “I can research your tree.”

Something akin to panic flashes through her eyes. “No, thank you.” She turns away. “I should go and let you do… your thing… The kids are up early… I better get some rest—”

She is blabbering again. What spooked her? “Lily—”

My phone vibrates, loudly dancing on my desk.

“Good night, Declan.” She sneaks out of the office.

I’m about to follow her and demand answers, but one glance at my flashing screen stops me in my tracks.

I look at the door where Lily disappeared and pick up my phone to kill the call. Instead, I click on the green icon to answer, not yet knowing the call will kill my chance at happiness.

“Kendra.”